Only she remembered what happened on her wedding day – but it wasn’t a thought she wanted to have in this moment. Her marble eyes stared out of the window of the farmhouse and into the rolling land beyond. Green and yellow married together as fields stretched for miles, far into the horizon. A smile sat perched on her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her ears. It was painted on – a mural of peace hiding something darker. 


Her hands trembled slightly as she held them together in a loose clasp. The skin pulled against her thin bones gleamed against the golden hue of dusk. 


Dusk. Things always felt different here when the sun started to go down. She turned to the dirt road, quietly hopeful for the sign of dust clouds forming, wheels making their way down. 

She hadn’t seen it happen for a while; longer than she could remember. 


“Coming, darling,” the woman called towards the hallway bleeding out from the bedroom. The old farmhouse creaked, settling into the autumnal breeze that brushed up against the ageing stone bricks. 

It felt like home, but only sometimes. She peeled away from the upstairs window and quietly crept into the dark hallway. The orange glare from the approaching sunset gave little light through the other windows she passed. Shadows danced around her, willing her to join them in their strange and distant waltz. 


She heard the floor groan as she descended the winding staircase to the hallway below. Dust formed around the beams of sunlight, darting around her as if trying to escape. 

He was already at the table when she entered the kitchen.


“Ah, there you are, darling. I was wondering where you had got to.” She threw him a short smile before turning her back to finish the rest of the dishes. She didn’t like to stay blind to him behind her. Every so often, she turned her head, pretending to take the rest of the quaint house in, but in reality she was watching him from her peripheral vision.

She loved him, at least she believed this is what love was. He remained silent, arms resting on the table, head turned slightly. 


“I was thinking we could have chicken tonight,” the woman said in passing comment, breaking the silence of the room. “I need to use up the rest of those potatoes too. We’ve had a good haul this season…”

Her voice trailed off into the quiet. It was always quiet here; it matched the rest of the yard outside – to the rest of the world too. Empty and silent. She swallowed, struggling into gather more words to fill the gloom around her.

She hadn’t meant to think about her wedding day. It was the chicken that had done it. She’d had the very same meal as she’s sat in her white dress. Her hand inside his cold, loose grasp. She had talked to him, quietly. Whispering so the guests couldn’t hear. Some of them were still in the barn even now.

She’d check on them soon – once the sun came up again. Right now, she was hungry. And it looked like her husband was too.


She began to gather the pan, filling it up with water. She grabbed the peeler and opened the pantry door.

“I don’t believe it…” she whispered as she picked up a mouldy, blackened potato. 

“These spuds are days old. Mouldy already. They’re dying quicker these days… I’ll have to grab a few from the lockbox outside. Will you be okay here by yourself?” 

The man said nothing. He sat as he had, arms rested on the table, head turned slightly. The woman waited for his response.


“Huh,” she started, her brow furrowing. “You’re quiet today. I’m not sitting in silence here. If you won’t speak, then I won’t either.” At this, she briskly left the room and headed towards the back door. It opened with a shriek, and she closed it gently behind her. 


Outside in the farmyard, she stopped. As with each day, it was quiet all around. But not like the countryside quiet she was once used to. It was a void, a soundless quiet that stretched far and wide. Not a bird singing, nor the sound of wind brushing past grass. It was just… nothing. It was almost haunting. 

As she cautiously made her way past the barn, she could see the flicker of white of the heads of the guests between the spaces in the slats of the wall. They sat at their tables still, unmoved from the day she had closed the door on them.


She wasn’t ready to address them just yet, her mind still wandering to what had happened that day.

Only she could remember. Not her friends, her family. Not even her husband. 

Since her father hadn’t been there to walk her down the aisle, Thomas, her husband’s best friend, had walked her down instead. Or rather, she’d walked him. 

His feet couldn’t move like the some of the others could. His legs were fixed to a base. When the speeches began, she embraced them with both laughing and crying, applauding each member of the party for their courage and thoughtful words. 


She couldn’t help but smile at that memory, although it faded as quickly as it had appeared. When it had been her turn to stand and address the party, she had begun like any other before her; jovial, upbeat but nervous. She thanked the guests, thanked her husband. She did everything she had been taught, everything that she had looked forward to. 

And yet, when she saw one of the plastic guests turn their head, as clear as day, everything changed. As if a quiet dread had snuck itself in and pushed the joy out of her picture. 

She was no longer immersed, no longer asleep.


It had been over twenty years since she had seen another human, the mannequins she had found in the attic, being the only company that she had. She hadn’t even finished her speech. She’d been quick to grab her husband by his hard and naked arm and pull him out of the barn. His feet were fixed to a base like Thomas’ were. 

She wasn’t ready to address the guests yet.


Upon collecting the potatoes from outside she turned to head inside the house. Only, she stopped. And she stared at the bedroom window upstairs. Her mouth fell open; her breathing turned shallow.

Her mannequin husband stood at the window, staring down towards her. He was still. She dropped the basket of potatoes, spilling them out onto the dirt below. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.


“Only I make you real,” she whispered to herself. “You’re… you’re not real…” 

The sky began to darken and the quiet began to strangle her. The empty world around her, void of life and purpose, enclosed the farmyard. She could run, though it would only be into the darkness, to where she was unfamiliar. To where she would be swallowed up. She knew she had nowhere else to go.

She crept to the back door of the house, peeling herself inside and locking away the darkness of the dying world.

The kitchen table was empty. A floorboard creaked above her.


Only she could remember what happened on her wedding day. 

Only she could know that she was all alone.